The skyline of the Eresnae shimmered in crystalline hues, reflecting off the towering, prismatic walls of the tallest and most secure residential complex in all of Lyres Mand.
Somewhere near the apex, occupying the penthouse suite reserved for only the most elite—and, more importantly, the most untouchable—was Phaser.
The man himself reclined lazily on a minimalistic, silver-cushioned sun chair that overlooked the stratosphere through an invisible barrier.
In one hand, he held a thin, sleek cup of black coffee from, smooth enough to shame the gods. In the other, he plucked a cookie, dipped it without care, and crunched thoughtfully as translucent holographic windows floated around him like lazy birds.
Each window displayed a headline, article, or real-time feed. News, reports, classified memos, market swings, combat breakdowns, flux awakenings, even a scandal or two. Phaser was going through them all like a man reading the morning paper, except every article could shift the future of the known world.
He squinted at one.
"'New Committee Proposes Nullification of Flux Rankings in Favor of Emotional Stability Quotient.'"
A soft scoff. "Idiots."
He slid the window aside.
Another one blinked in: "Nairobi Elevates a Tessera to Epta Without Trial—Public Outrage Mounts. Of course they did. Seriously, did the Second Thauma did all this?"
Yet another: "Survivor Found in the Spooky Forest—Claims to Have Seen a 'Living Core.'"
"Liar," he muttered, sipping again.
The balcony breeze lightly tousled his brown hair as he scanned another feed, this one trailing with red markers and the classic INTERNAL ONLY watermark branded across the top. He paused when the notification pinged in his mind.
A telepathic connection.
Only one person would contact him this way without needing permission.
Dryad.
Her voice flooded the space in a clean, emotionless packet.
"Yo. Good news. Cursed Basin team finished the mission. Even better news, you'll want to sit for this."
"I am sitting," he replied dryly, dunking another cookie.
"She survived."
Phaser's coffee paused halfway to his lips.
"...Who?"
"Periwinkle." Dryad let the name hang. "She's alive."
His brows didn't twitch. Not yet. He leaned back.
"She was supposed to almost survive. Not actually survive. Especially not there."
"Well," Dryad's voice took on a grin he couldn't see, "she made it out of the Unknown Zone. Bracelet confirms it. Same serial. Same readouts."
Still, he didn't flinch, just gently blew on his coffee like he hadn't just heard that someone survived a region with a 0% historical survival rate.
"That zone's not charted," he said casually. "There are temporal distortions. The last thirty-seven who stepped in there got torn apart. We didn't even recover bones."
"Yep. And guess what? She was in there for four days."
Finally, Phaser froze just for a breath. Dryad didn't let up.
"Nine hours on our side.
He exhaled, finally letting a grin creep into the corner of his mouth.
"So... time moves slower. A temporal deceleration field."
"We've been watching the footage. Everyone saw the readouts. Even the haters. Especially the haters. Lyres Mand is losing its mind."
He leaned forward, placing the coffee on the tray beside him.
"So no one can accuse us of favoring her anymore."
"Exactly," Dryad said. "You said we needed a miracle to justify her status. We were gonna simulate that miracle, remember? Trial by crisis, an engineered survival scenario in a controllable environment. Make her earn it."
"But she actually did it." Phaser whispered.
He reached for another cookie, leaned back, and let a low laugh rumble from his throat.
"The Unknown Zone. The one place we never sent anyone. The one place that devours Epta-levels like candy."
"She walked out of it. And it's all publicly stamped."
He tapped a finger against the tray. "And now her favoritism is earned."
"Exactly."
That had been the game all along.
In the Eresnae, favoritism was sacrilege. Rankings were supposed to be earned. Bias, nepotism, or political elevation got you purged from council seats and stripped of credibility. Phaser, being one of the rare few Rogue Flux Elites, already had eyes on him. So when he pulled strings to elevate Periwinkle, a fresh Ennéa with no official missions or feats under her belt, the murmurs started.
They said she was too green. Too quiet. Too pretty.
And yet, Phaser had pushed, never openly, but he rerouted her assignments, pulled her out of useless surveys and shoved her into real threats. The plan was simple:
Force the woman to achieve something insane. Then point to it and say, "See? She's not favored. She's earned."
But now? She went into the Unknown Zone and lived. She stayed there longer than anyone thought possible and walked out. And the best part?
She did it on her own.
Dryad's voice chimed in again. "She's the first Rogue Flux Elite in history to even enter the Zone, let alone return. Even if someone else had done it, they'd be elevated instantly."
Phaser smiled.
"A historical precedent. One we didn't even have to forge."
Dryad snorted. "So now, if anyone accuses us of lifting her up for looks or connections, we throw her bracelet footage in their face."
He leaned back into his chair, looked at the glowing skyline, and sipped deeply from his coffee.
It was perfect.
"She's our loaded gun now," he murmured. "And they pulled the trigger for us. What do you want to do with the footage?"
"Broadcast it on the public Eresnae board," Phaser said, smiling wider. "With timestamps. No edits. Just facts. Let them burn their tongues trying to downplay it."
"I knew you'd say that," Dryad chuckled. "One last thing."
"Hm?"
"She's starting to realize she's stronger than her supposed rating. That her Flux might not be standard. The Zone... might have changed her."
He exhaled through his nose, looking thoughtful. "Good."
Then, as calmly as ever, he reached for another cookie and took a bite.
"These cookies are good."
______
The footage went live through Lyers Mand's central server. Nothing was detailed, just the basics:
"UNKNOWN ZONE: 0% SURVIVAL BROKEN BY ENNÉA?"
"GIRL SURVIVES THE CURSED ABYSS—PROVES TIME INTERFERENCE REAL!"
"RANK ENNÉA PERMONELLE CHANGES THE GAME"
The Reversal Cradlepoint's feed was supposed to be confidential but Dryad intentionally let that data leak.
The common folk began to rally behind her. They saw themselves in Permonelle. Weak. Underestimated. Cast aside.
She wasn't powerful when she went in. She just went in anyway. And to be honest, everyone who heard of her hears rumors that she didn't have a Flux by then.
"She's proof," they said. "Proof that Ennéas aren't deadweight."
The other Ennéas, Especially the quiet ones stood taller that day.
Even some Dio-ranks—who used to scoff at her—began backtracking. Suddenly they wanted to "train with her" or "study her tactics." People who once ignored her started digging up her old footage, rewatching her trials, trying to make sense of how they missed it.
The irony? She hadn't changed. They had.
The higher-ups who once demanded she be reassigned were now drafting "Support Permonelle" white papers to save face.
One even suggested she be relocated to another Eresnae for "elite study"—a pathetic bid to steal her from Phaser's jurisdiction. Didn't work.
Phaser sent back a single word:
"No."
Permonelle was still exhausted and recovering, unsure about what the hell happened to her Flux. Her armor was gone. Her strings were unpredictable. Her body felt different, like something had awakened, something that still scared even her.
But outside? The world that once mocked her was now clinging to every move she made.
She couldn't even step outside the Lyers Mand dorms without catching stares. Every eye wondering:
"What is she?"
Not who. What.